


Patching Up

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 3x14 coda, 3x14 spoilers, Coda, F/M, FitzSimmons - Freeform, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 02:54:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6405877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A coda to 3x14 where Simmons finds out about Fitz' injuries. For better or worse, it doesn't end with a kiss, but still upward turning. Hurt/comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patching Up

Fitz hissed through his teeth as he pulled at skin and hair instead of the mutated black shrapnel the nitramene goop had left behind. It was hard enough, trying to twist to see, without coordinating his hands to pull out something so small from so sensitive an area, but he had to get it out. It was starting to get red and weird-looking and the thought of getting an infection, let alone anything unexpected or alien, in his _neck_ of all places, was enough to make him start feeling nauseous. So here he was, in the dead of night, peering very intently into the mirror, trying not to pinch anything, or cause any disturbance that would make the area of his intense attention any grosser than necessary. It was of course, just as he put metal to skin again, that somebody decided to interrupt him. 

“Fitz?"

“J – ah – Jemma. Hi.” He turned, dropping the tweezers onto the bench and scanning the room as desperately and subtly as possible, for some other explanation or distraction.

“What’s that?” 

“What’s what?”

His hand automatically moved to his neck, giving himself away. Simmons’ eyes narrowed, letting him know unequivocally that he’d been caught out, and she strode over to him with the busy, authoritative pace of a doctor and pulled his hand out of the way.

“Nitrogen burn,” she observed, already reaching for the tweezers without looking away. “And this – hardened sap of some kind? What is this?” 

Pulling a piece free, she ignored Fitz’ wince and held up the incriminating evidence. He tried not to look too closely at it. It probably had all sorts of grossness all over it. Plus, looking at it meant seeing past it to her face. Her ‘you’re-lying-to-me’ face.

“It’s nothing,” he insisted. “It’s fine.”

“I’m sure it is. All’s well that ends well, right?”

Her tone was too light, her expression exaggeratedly gentle as she dropped the piece into the kidney dish he’d been gathering them in. Fitz couldn’t ignore that. He could practically hear her teeth grinding together.

“All’s well that ends well,” he repeated. “It was just a thing on a mission, happened, was dealt with. I’m fine, Daisy’s fine, everybody’s fine.”

“And you’re practicing fine motor skills by burning yourself with liquid nitrogen and ripping your neck to shreds with tweezers. Oh yes, sounds perfectly fine to me.”

  
“Actually, it was Daisy who applied the liquid nitrogen. As for – I – well, I didn’t want to worry you.”

He cringed as her fist clenched around the inevitable response. 

“I’m worried now, aren’t I?”

“You know what I mean!” he returned, exasperated. “I can look after myself, believe it or not, and since - since _absolutely nothing of consequence_ happened I thought this would be one opportunity I have to a) demonstrate that and b) lift some of that- that guilt you’re always carrying. I am _fine.”_

“You think that’s why I worry about you? Because I think you can’t look after yourself?”

“Don’t you?”

“I think you should ask May to teach you how to get out of a headlock before you ever leave this building again, sure! But I’m not stupid! You don’t get as far as we have without being able to look after yourself. Then again – if whatever got into your neck was as bad as it looks, maybe I should add that to my list.” 

“Don’t you dare. It was my fault, I put myself in harm’s way. This has nothing to do with you. You can’t take responsibility for everything that happens to me in the field!”

Simmons sighed, bouncing anxiously on her feet. 

“I’m not. For once,” she pointed out. “I just meant, sometimes I do baby you and I’m sorry about that. But like you said, you do put yourself in danger an awful lot. I’m going to worry about that. I can’t help it. I – I care about you. I want you to be safe. It makes me… _freak out_ when I can’t protect you.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

Fitz opened his arms with an apologetic smile, beckoning her in for a hug. Simmons stepped into them, still getting used to these. It took a few seconds for her to settle into the embrace, and wind back her own vigilance a few notches. Her conversation with May came to the tip of her tongue. _Poor Fitz almost died…I feel guilty all the time._ The way Fitz pulled her closer told her that maybe he was feeling guilty too. Maybe they all did. Maybe it was everyone’s fault. Maybe noone’s, but somebody would always take credit. Unsure whether to take this as a comforting, or a disquieting thought, Simmons tried to turn her attention away from it, to the weight of Fitz’ hand on her back, and his chin and cheek above her head.

“For the record,” he murmured. “I feel the same way.”

He eased her back, so that she could see the sincerity and determination in his eyes, in case it was not evident in his voice. It was, but she never failed to be overwhelmed by the visual delivery. She smiled, blinking away the building tears to clear and sharpen her vision, and picked up the tweezers. 

“Next time, turn a bloody light on,” she reprimanded, switching on the nearest lamp and turning her attention to her work.


End file.
